


Trap Card 「Drowning Mirror Force」

by FallowDeer



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Dehumanization, Gen, Rape/Non-con Elements, Water Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallowDeer/pseuds/FallowDeer
Summary: One of the Detention Center guards helps Yuusei take a shower.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Trap Card 「Drowning Mirror Force」

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Resilur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resilur/gifts).



When Yuusei’s number was called this time it was one of a dozen.

Around him people hastily dispersed to their cells on some unknown mission. Two guards waited at the center of the block, finished reading the short list of prisoner IDs. Yuusei watched them; their stillness was eye-catching amid the flurry of activity. The one on the right turned a little and smiled at him, an unfriendly baring of teeth. Yuusei recognized him as the guard who’d walked him to the warden.

Himuro Jin shifted, drawing his attention. “Showers,” he said shortly to Yuusei’s look, “once every three days. Newbies are at the end of the rotation. Usually.”

“Check you out, bro! Already getting special treatment ‘cause of that duel,” the old man cackled, but Yuusei could tell his heart wasn’t in it. In his delirium he’d maybe talked a little too much about returning to Satellite, or about the promise to his friends, or maybe about Jack. The old man had been fluttering around all day, unsuccessfully trying to rein himself in. Every time he caught himself grabbing Yuusei he’d physically jump to put a body between them. It was getting uncomfortable.

Himuro crossed his arms. “You stay with Usui,” he said to Yuusei, like a threat. 

Himuro was glaring at the loud skinny man who followed him around, an enthusiastic member of his cheerleading squad. He’d scampered off when the numbers were called and had reappeared with a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm.

(Yuusei didn’t have a second set of clothing.)

“Sure thing boss,” the man said, “I’ll look after him!”

Himuro switched his glare to Yuusei. He really was a natural gang leader, with commanding instincts like that. It was no wonder he’d clawed his way to the top of the Detention Center hierarchy so fast. Yuusei gave in with a shrug and stepped after his new shadow. 

The assembled prisoners cleared the room in a disorderly line, murmuring excitedly to each other. “Step quick,” the guard he’d recognized said, shoving Yuusei as he passed. When he looked back, Himuro was still glaring.

Yuusei tried to mark their path but the gray hallways to the showers were indistinguishable from the ones he’d been marched through yesterday. They were too new, not a scuff on the floor or flickering overhead light. They left him feeling unmoored. He focused on Usui, who was loudly explaining what soap was and how it was used, until he hit a hidden conversational threshold and started talking about Himuro’s win record. (He was a genuine fan. That made Yuusei like him, just a little.)

The showers were as new as the rest of the Detention Center, floor to ceiling uncracked tile, burnished steel nozzles jutting from the walls at regular intervals. There were benches along the boundary of the spray to collect clothes in more or less tidy piles.

Yuusei was slower to undress than the others. He still ached from the previous night’s _examination_ , a dull pain throbbing deep in his chest, unnatural stiffness in all his joints. Whatever they’d been looking for—information, or that burning mark on his arm, or something else—they hadn’t found it. Perhaps they’d have gone easier on him if they had.

Probably not.

He was strangely reluctant to take off his right glove.

Usui left Yuusei to step into the steam. The water was already beating down hot and clear from every faucet, positively Utopian. It was some kind of automatic system, half of them weren’t even occupied. It seemed wasteful, but Neo Domino was an unfamiliar type of monster. What did he know.

Yuusei stacked the rest of his clothes together. He’d leave the glove on.

He was pushed, hard, from behind.

“ _You’ve got to look out in the showers,_ ” Rally’d said on more than one occasion, to a great many people but never Yuusei, “ _that’s where they’ll get ya!_ ”

(Rally was always so shy around him—as though Yuusei’d ever been in any position to judge. Well, he had a criminal marker of his own, now. Maybe things would be different, when he got back.)

“ _Like you need another excuse not to bathe,_ ” Blitz would complain.

He bare knees hit the bench’s sharp corner, cutting deep enough to bleed, but he kept his feet and spun to face his attacker.

Yuusei’d never asked who _they_ were. Other prisoners, he’d assumed in a vague out-of-focus way. (The truth was, he didn’t like to think of it. He didn’t want to know who or what’d finally killed Kiryu, even in the abstract.)

He could have guessed it was Security.

(It was always Security.)

“Let’s get you showered, Number Eighty-eight,” the guard said, easy like he hadn’t just tried to knock Yuusei to the ground. He smiled again, and up close it was more than unfriendly; it was predatory. He reached out. Yuusei dodged, but his reflexes were blunted and the guard seized him by the forearm. The grip was bruising, hard even through thick leather.

“You upset the natural order yesterday, cheating like that,” the guard was so quiet his voice almost disappeared under the white noise of the showers. Yuusei was suddenly aware that the chatter of the other prisoners had dwindled down to nothing.

His arm was wrenched out between them and he stumbled forward into the guard’s side. He didn’t seem to notice, occupied with peeling the last article of clothing off Yuusei. When his skin was bare the guard traced a light finger along the veins of his wrist and up to the crook of his elbow. The move left him inexplicably shaky.

He shook off the hand. “The duel was fair,” he said as evenly as he could. It came out toneless, with no force behind it. It wasn’t like he could prove he wasn’t a cheat. (Even if this man gave him the opportunity as a duelist, he didn’t have his own cards.)

“You think so?” the guard said, smile widening. He pressed his hand to Yuusei’s bare shoulder, pushing him toward the showers. When he made to jerk away the guard caught him. “They stacked the deck without telling you, eh? Ol’ Jin took a dive all of his own accord? That’s no good, relapsing right before his parole. You think I should take this up with him?”

“No,” Yuusei grit out, buckling under the implicit threat.

“That’s what I thought,” the guard said. “Let’s go, Number Eighty-eight. Time to get you clean.”

“ _You never learn,_ ” Jack sneered in his memories.

Yuusei allowed himself to be moved to the far shower-head, smooth tile on one side, the rest of the prisoners clustered uneasily on the other. Yuusei didn’t consider himself particularly self-conscious but walking naked with this man at his back made his skin crawl. He stared straight down into the drain, hyper-aware of the tight grip that had migrated up his side and to his neck.

“I’m just making sure this Satellite trash knows its place,” the guard announced, and then he forced Yuusei’s head up into the spray.

The water was blinding. 

He’d been caught on an exhale. He froze, fighting not to breathe in—fighting not to _fight_ —as scalding heat rained down over him. Before he could reach panic he was yanked back against a hard surface—the guard’s chest. It had only been one small moment of terror, no time at all. He panted through the aftermath, free to breathe again. 

“We got a problem?” the guard barked in Yuusei’s ear. A hand was fisted tight in Yuusei’s hair and his head jerked back, giving him a blurred look at the prisoners two showers over. One of them had moved from the rest, palms up.

“We got a problem, Number Sixty-three?” the guard said again, softer. Yuusei’s vision cleared enough to see it was Himuro’s annoying cheerleader, stepping up to be a hero—making himself a target. Yuusei willed him to back down.

Usui licked his lips. He made nervous eye contact with Yuusei, shot a quick glance behind himself for the gang that wasn’t there. When he turned back Yuusei could see it on his face, he was smart or cowardly enough to recognize this wasn’t a fight worth having. “No way, sir. No problem.”

“That’s good. You’re a sharp one, Number Sixty-three. A man who knows his place. You don’t need to be taught what clean water is, like Satellite filth does. Isn’t that so?”

Usui gave a jittery little nod.

The guard muffled a laugh against Yuusei’s bare neck. They were plastered together, Yuusei reflexively clutching the arm wrapped around him as he was held open, on sick display. Every point of contact stung--the arm along his collarbones, the fingers caressing his neck, the hand pulling his hair and craning his head back against the guard's shoulder.

The showers were still going, hotter than anything they'd ever had on Satellite, even in the factories, but he was shivering. Steam cloaked the whole room in a haze. Yuusei couldn’t escape the notion that all this wet was going to ruin the cheap synthetic leather of the guard’s uniform. Where it dug into his back the creases were sharp, already cracking. It would probably end up on some garbage barge, destined for home in Yuusei’s stead.

The guard pulled out of Yuusei’s hands and it took conscious effort to let him go. He reached up to run his thumb over Yuusei’s lower lip, back and forth. He pressed in, between his teeth, against his tongue. Yuusei strained to keep from reacting to the invasion against all instinct; it would be a bad idea to bite him.

“And you. Do _you_ know your place, Number Eighty-eight?”

Even with his mouth free Yuusei wouldn’t have had the answer he wanted. He’d never been much good at lying.

His head was forced back into the spray, and held there.

It was worse. Even knowing what was coming, he couldn’t hold his breath against it.

Yuusei was a good swimmer. He’d never thought about drowning, not even on that horrible day when Jack had stolen their hope and his bike and left Rally to die. (That would have been the end of him if Yuusei’d been minutes, seconds slower. Rally probably thought about drowning.)

(Another thing they now had in common.)

With his mouth wedged open the hot water streamed down the back of his throat and into his lungs. A slow suffocation, building from moment to moment. It burned. Jagged knives scraped inside the cage of his ribs. It took his air. He couldn’t stop it.

He thrashed desperately, clawed at the hand in his mouth. He wrenched himself from the grip anchoring him in place. Some hair was lost to the guard’s clenched fist but it won him enough space to collapse to the ground, out of the spray, coughing helplessly into the drain.

Hard pressure against his naked spine, between his shoulder-blades, bent him further forward—a boot. He braced himself against the floor to keep from being crushed into the runoff and wretched up bloody water—he’d bitten without realizing it. Across the room Usui watched him, face twisted with an ugly emotion Yuusei couldn’t name.

His chest hurt.

“That wasn’t very civilized of you. You fight too much and I’ll look for something easier. You’re real friendly with that pathetic old man, aren’t you?”

“ _They drag you down, Yuusei. They make you weak!_ ” Jack’s voice echoed in his head, louder than his ragged choking breaths, louder than the frantic pounding of his heart.

As awful as he was, Yuusei was more than aware of his responsibilities. The reminder pulled him back together; it hardened his resolve.

“Are you going to fight me, Number Eighty-eight?”

“No,” Yuusei said. His voice was ruined, barely recognizable. He bowed his head and let himself be ground down into the tile. Whatever this was—whatever this man wanted—it couldn’t last forever. He’d get through it.

He had a promise to keep.

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely good Yu-Gi-Oh fact: one of the guards is named DIO and he runs an ice barrier deck called "Spreading Ripple".


End file.
